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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26833387">it's still love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkhale/pseuds/alkhale'>alkhale</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dubious Consent, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Mafia AU, Mild Sexual Content, Obsessive Behavior, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Romance, Yakuza!Sakusa Kiyoomi, Yandere!Sakusa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:53:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,023</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26833387</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkhale/pseuds/alkhale</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You’d like to think if your boss had known better, he wouldn’t have let you walk up the steps and meet that quiet, handsome young man with dark eyes and gloved hands. He wouldn’t have let you take your polite seat beside him, a nice distance away until he offered you to come closer—he did really like that, the way you respected his space, the way you waited for his okay—and chat him up and win him over enough to call for you again.</p><p>And again. And again. And again, again, again—until Sakusa was leading you away, with his gloved hand pressed to your lower back, whispering hot, smooth promises against the side of your ear, almost forcing you to your knees with just those words alone. Sweeping you up in his dark coat, into his fancy car, and laid out on the sheets of the finest hotels money could buy.</p><p>It was fun. It was nice to have a good-looking customer. An attentive customer who didn’t treat you badly, who didn’t slather over you or treat you like a piece of meat. You were just doing your job.</p><p>(But Sakusa was falling—)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sakusa Kiyoomi/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>636</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>it's still love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Here's another one from the typetober series! I was going to make this shorter but it ended up spiraling out of control HAHAHAA, I didn't expect my first one for Sakusa to be like this but here it is.</p><p>Sorry if he might've been a littttle out of character, hope you enjoy regardless!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re almost there.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You flee down the dimly lit hallway. The once comforting tackiness of the gaudily decorated club walls leer back at you, neon lights casting taunting, dragging shadows. The distant boom of music thuds dully against the floor and walls, boxing you in as you run. Your arms move quickly at your sides, legs stretching outwards, ripping the thin seams of the tight dress wrapped snugly around you—constricting, enough to choke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your heart thuds wildly in your chest, threatening to burst, to flee screaming into the night. Your stilettos </span>
  <em>
    <span>clack clack clack </span>
  </em>
  <span>against the concrete floor. Your curled, styled hair comes undone, clinging tightly to your face as you hold back tears and </span>
  <em>
    <span>run.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Run. Run. Run. Run. Run.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A door slams somewhere behind you. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s coming. </span>
  </em>
  <span>There’s quick, even shouts between men as they fan out, spilling from the club’s showroom and following you into the narrow hallway. You feel the ice grip your heart, pumping fast through your veins like liquid venom. Tears prick the corners of your eyes but you refuse to cry—you’ve never cried out of fear, never, you won’t let this be the start.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Get out of here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You threw yourself against the heavy double doors diving the hallway higher clientele would often use to discreetly enter the establishment. Your club was an infamous one—the kind that could cater to simple, cheap young men looking for a fun time and the thick wadded wallets of powerful men with families tucked somewhere at home, blissfully unaware of the infidelity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two more hallways and there would be an exit. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You know this place like the back of your hand. Go. Go. Go!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You’ve worked here for years. For longer than people would think respectable. Then again, this line of work never </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>considered respectable. You knew how it worked. You did your part. You’ve been with the establishment since high school, working your way up to be a reasonably popular request amongst well-meaning guests. Your boss was always sweet on you. He never let you go with customers he thought would do you wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He hadn’t had a choice this time.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was no one’s fault. It wasn’t. How could there be anyone to blame for something like this?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Find her! She can’t have gone far.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>None of you had thought otherwise. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How could we have known? </span>
  </em>
  <span>The other girls had swooned at the sight of him, even you had taken your time to marvel a bit at the clean young man who seemed worlds away entering your establishment. It wasn’t every day you got a customer who looked the way he did, who held himself the way he did, who </span>
  <em>
    <span>dripped </span>
  </em>
  <span>an existence beyond yours the way he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He knew exactly where he stood in this world. And he knew where all of you stood too.)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Beneath. Beneath. Beneath.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Your coworkers could tell in a single glance. The dark glint of gold along his cuffs, pressed into the dark silk of his button down shirt. The hint of ink, of patterns they’d long to trace across his arms, over the taut muscles of his chest rolled up in his sheets. The thick, pressed coat hanging over his shoulders like a cape—the suits, the shoes, the men surrounding him—they wouldn’t just get paid well, they knew it’d be beneficial on multiple accounts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You remember noticing his gloves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Solid black, sleek and smooth, the kind that covered his fingertips and curved around his palm. They funny way he’d hardly touch a thing. The way the seats would be wiped down, the room kept absolutely private—the balcony viewing saved only for the best customers, the highest payers. He’d rent out the whole floor, nothing but a few bodyguards and he’d look down, a thick black mask obscuring the lower half of his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“He’s the young new head of the Itachiyama Syndicate,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>they whispered to you as you fixed each other’s makeup. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“If we play our cards right, he’ll be a regular. The owner will never have to worry about protection again.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They giggled at you.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“If he picks one of us to be his little favorite, imagine how good we’ll have it!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You remember trying to peek up at the balcony from the ground floor, eyes scanning the top railing as regulars chatted your ears off, complimenting your dress, eagerly waiting to escort you to one of the private back rooms.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Really? </span>
  </em>
  <span>You used to wonder. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Would it really be a good thing?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Lavish gifts, they said. Dinners with cuisine none of them could even imagine, overpriced things on tiny plates that couldn’t possibly fill you up but you’d dine anyway. You’d enjoy it because it was the money paying.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>By the looks of it, </span>
  </em>
  <span>they’d laugh, shoving and teasing, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’d have it good in bed too.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>These things weren’t that uncommon. You’ve had your run of more expensive customers paying a prettier penny to do prettier things, even if the result by the end of the night was the same. You were instructed to tend to dissuade customers from spending too lavishly on you and spending more lavishly on the establishment—what went to the owner always came back to the workers tenfold.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But don’t be rude. Accept. Be polite. Never refuse.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Don’t ever look a gift horse in the mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They whispered sweet nothings by his ears, trying to reach prettily manicured nails to run their fingers through the thick waves of jet black framing the sharp sculpt of his face. He couldn’t have been that old, honestly in your opinion. A few years older than you give or take, or maybe you were the one a year or two older than him. He held himself like a man, wise and shrewd and—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Above. Above. Above.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was just dumb luck, you reasoned. Dumb, funny luck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he’d liked that dress you’d been wearing—a soft, cotton white cocktail dress that hugged all the right places. Maybe he liked your hair. Maybe he was just having his pick of the girls, feeling out who he liked best and you were just number seven out of eleven.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Maybe it’d been the way he’d been watching you since the first night he entered. Maybe it’d been the way he watched your quiet, quaint form move with more care, more tentativeness than the rest. Maybe it was the way you looked, groomed and fresh and smiling as you chatted with your customers. Maybe it was the way you smiled, with a smile that didn’t fit the people working here. Maybe it was just—)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sakusa-sama is requesting for you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(—you.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’d like to think if your boss had known better, he wouldn’t have let you walk up the steps and meet that quiet, handsome young man with dark eyes and gloved hands. He wouldn’t have let you take your polite seat beside him, a nice distance away until he offered you to come closer—he did really like that, the way you respected his space, the way you waited for his okay—and chat him up and win him over enough to call for you again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And again. And again. And again, again, again—until Sakusa was leading you away, with his gloved hand pressed to your lower back, whispering hot, smooth promises against the side of your ear, almost forcing you to your knees with just those words alone. Sweeping you up in his dark coat, into his fancy car, and laid out on the sheets of the finest hotels money could buy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was fun. It was nice to have a good-looking customer. An attentive customer who didn’t treat you badly, who didn’t slather over you or treat you like a piece of meat. You were just doing your job.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(But Sakusa was falling—)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because in the quiet moments of those nights or the faint, peeking moments of those mornings, you’d talk. Never too much, an idle, quiet kind of lull that you tended to do out of habit, sometimes humming, sometimes just speaking over nothing. You kept your work professional, but you liked being friendly. You didn’t mind getting close because you knew where the line between affection and something realer, something rawer, was drawn.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You know, I used to be interested in tons of stuff when I was little.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sakusa’s eyes flickered down to you, his expression unreadable as he sat up against the headboard, fingers wrapped around the neck of a glass bottle of water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You grinned, the kind of smile that made your eyes crinkle. You were stretched out over the bed, satin white sheets draped hazardously around you. You propped your head on your arms, folded beneath you and on top of his lap, tracing the corner of his expensive briefs, counting seams.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I could never make up my mind, so I was interested in tons of stuff,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” you continued. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Did I want to sell flowers? Bake food? Be an astronaut? There’s so many interesting things out there, you know?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You laughed, rolling your head to the side to beam up at him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I was so dumb</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’d go around trying </span>
  </em>
  <span>everything. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’d pretend to be this, pretend to be that… I even tried to jump off the biggest tree in the park to see if I could reach the moon.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You drew your hand away from him, rolling over onto your back. Your head was in his lap and Sakusa watched you, listening in silence, tracing the outline of your face with his eyes, following the curve of your smile. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“But I think there’s no way to know what we’re meant for. We just get lucky. We just end up right where we’re supposed to.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You looked up at him and smiled, lightly tracing your fingers against the side of his face. Sakusa didn’t reprimand you, didn’t pull away.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re probably right where you need to be too, so don’t worry too much. You’ll ruin that handsome face.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sakusa stayed silent, gazing down at you, eyes flickering with emotions you should’ve paid better attention too. But it’d been too difficult, too careless, when he set his water aside and guided your body back to the sheets, turning you and following after. Your nervous laugh flooded the air, flushing as he gazed and gazed and gazed into the deepest part of you, hiking your legs over his shoulders—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“W-Wait, wait</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>again? Already?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>you ran your hands through his hair, tangling up in his locks, trying to slow the descent of his determined mouth, unable to pull away from the hypnotic lull of those dark eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“But we already</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>isn’t it too much</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your head pressed into the sheets, toes curling, back arching as he rolled his thumb against that horribly abused, oversensitive part of you. Rolling again and again before his tongue plunged deep, cutting off all other weak protests.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll die,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>you whimpered, trying to tap out, fingers weakly prodding his cheek as you moaned with each deep, rocking thrust back into your sensitive heat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll really… die… no… moreeeee…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Your lower stomach coiled, winding up, shuddering at the impossibility of coming undone, again, again, </span>
  <em>
    <span>too much. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sakusa watched you, cheek pressed to your hiked up calf, lids lowered, eyes drenched in want and raw, dark promise as he’d pull, back and forward, back, just to the tip, and plunge with frightening ferocity and accuracy back into you.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“P-Please….” </span>
  </em>
  <span>you slurred. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Too mu...much… ah!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Your mouth opened in a soundless cry and he continued to thrust, hitting every spot, stroking every sensitive, abused, loving spot. Sakusa hummed against your calf, pressing his lips to the side in a soft kiss that contradicted the unforgiving, rapid pace of his thrusts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sakusa watched the way you panted, fingers faintly sliding down his chest, down his arm, eyes filled with nothing but him, hazy and overwhelmed and wrecked with pleasure.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Filled with nothing but him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallowed up your protest, forcing you to one more mind numbing high.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Sakusa grew used to this talk, humored it the first time and let it run its course the second before expecting it the third. Your hands combing through the thick tangles of his hair or slowly working out the kinks in his inked back—a set of weasels wrapped up in white lilies, perfectly elegant. It fit him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Because Sakusa Kiyoomi, the fearsome young boss of the Itachiyama Syndicate was not often spoken to the way you spoke to him.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’d coax a single answer or two from his lips about his work, about anything else. You’d chat about nothing at all, letting your lulling voice fill the silence and flood his ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He liked the way you talked.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d watch you beneath the wavy tangles of his hair, wrapped up in expensive satin sheets or duvets, follow the line of the marks he’d left behind across your body before rousing enough to take you again and again or hauling you into the shower where it’d be a toss up between both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Sakusa liked the way you looked beside him, the way you felt around him, the way you looked at him—)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So the lavish gifts came. The pretty wrapped boxes, scaring the shit out of you. Your coworkers would </span>
  <em>
    <span>ooo </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>ah </span>
  </em>
  <span>and leave you speechless as you tried to pawn the goods off them— “I don’t need this”— “This doesn’t even suit me, take this”— until Komori would laugh and calm you down, promising it was nothing to be afraid of, you wouldn’t have to give up your kidney.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He was expecting you to give up something else.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sakusa requested you and only you. He’d come, sweeping you up from the club with a nod of approval at your freshly showered, cleaned appearance, taking your arm in his elbow and spiriting you away. He took you to the fancy dinners your coworkers promised, humored you on rare flashes when you’d beg him to stop the car for something from a streetcar, glaring and glowering as he leaned outside the car with his face mask, watching you happily down something more fulfilling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your schedules became stricter, opening up to adjust to his changing but rigid schedule. Your regulars grew restless with your disappearance, your boss quietly shrugging, telling you Sakusa would pay the difference of what you’d make with those regulars over the time you would spend waiting for him to call on you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And some days he didn’t call but the check would still come in. You’d be required to wait, never knowing if he’d call for you that day, come visit the establishment, and it left you at a loss—you couldn’t meet with any other customers at the risk he’d be seeking you out and you’d have to explain why you were unavailable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(You couldn’t see anyone else.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t… a </span>
  <em>
    <span>problem. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You tended to like to keep it to a few regulars anyway. It was more ideal like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’d like to think if your boss had known sooner, he would’ve told you to go while you had the chance. Maybe he did know. Maybe he did figure it out, watching from the bar, growing paler and paler with the way Sakusa would keep you tucked to his side, looking at everything else as though it were dirt beneath his shoes. The way you would laugh, shaking your head in unknowing bliss while Sakusa would watch and watch, eyes enveloping you whole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way the money would come in, followed be neat, strict requests to keep you well, to keep you content, to keep you—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To himself.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Who was your boss to deny the handsome, upcoming young boss of one of Tokyo’s leading crime syndicates? Who was he to know that the quiet, well-mannered young Itachiyama boss could remind them all in a heartbeat that he didn’t just pick up this job for fun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d been </span>
  <em>
    <span>born </span>
  </em>
  <span>for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Dumb silly, bad luck.)</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Another door slams. You almost sob, roughly pushing into a hallway and stumbling over your heels. You angrily tug them off, ripping the straps clean through and running with your bare feet slapping the concrete. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Almost there. Almost there.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You chuck your heels toward one of the other rooms, risking a fearful second to prop another door. If they chased you this far, which they would, you know. You know, you know, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>because he won’t, he won’t let you go—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They’ll think I doubled back. They’ll search the parking lot where the stairs go. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You run, sprinting past the eerie red neon lights, letting them paint you in fluorescent blood. It catches the shiny gold clasps of your dress—it’s white, a pearly, pretty white and you suddenly feel sick because it’d been a gift from </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Tear it off. Tear it off. Tear it off.)</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>A lavish, wonderful gift that had you seeing stars, never feeling fabric so soft before. You couldn’t wrap your head around it. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“This is for me?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You’d sat up in disbelief amidst the plush, downy sheets, folding your naked legs up underneath you with the unwrapped gift box spread out over the grand white duvet. Sakusa had been sitting beside you, half draped over you with his legs curved out like some kind of jungle cat. His arm came down the other side of you, tracing slow, intricate patterns up your hip, connecting the marks he’d left behind. The pulsing warmth of his body, hot and comforting and lightly slicked with sweat from just moments before—his lips, finding the column of your neck as the wavy ends of his hair tickled your cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s hardly anything.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s everything,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>you’d gushed, pulling it out and twisting to press it against your naked chest, beaming at him with an almost childish grin. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve never owned anything this nice before</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>is it really okay?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s yours,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sakusa slid his fingers along your chin, cupping your cheek, turning you to him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You’ll get excited over something like this?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t say that,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>you’d pecked his lips, ignoring the low growl in his throat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“This costs more than I make in months! I’ll take good care of it. I’ll only wear it for you, okay?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d looked so pleased. So </span>
  <em>
    <span>satisfied. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’d made you smile—it was your job, after all. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Satisfying. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sakusa was a terribly difficult person to satisfy to boot, but he’d been nothing but good to you. It was just as your coworkers had said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Only good things can come from this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes had glittered then, wrapped up and flickering in something you’d once just thought of as affectionate warmth. You laughed as he pulled the dress from your fingertips, pushing you back into the bed and swallowing you whole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the kind of affection you knew came from your customers, the kind shared between two people who got along well, physically and emotionally—that’s all it’d been. That’s all it always was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(You’d messed up.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a thin line between </span>
  <em>
    <span>affection</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sakusa Kiyoomi felt for you. You were just the bumbling idiot in this silly little story.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>(Love. Love. Love. Love you. You’re mine. Don’t you understand that? No one else can have you. I’ll take care of you. I’ll make sure you want for nothing. You’re mine. Mine. Mine. I love you. You’re—)</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>Free! </span>
  </em>
  <span>You almost sob in relief, running with all your might for the final stretch down the hallway toward the back exit. It would open up close to the train station—there’d be people. People and more people and you’d be able to slip into the crowd, you’d look like a fool, but that’d be a small price to pay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You plan it out in your head. Go home. Grab your things. Book the next ticket. Go anywhere, anywhere—</span>
  <em>
    <span>far. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His group just runs the Tokyo area. Even </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>is divided into more factions. You listened to his talks. His chats. The sighs of annoyance over disrupting factions and people. You’d just go home. Go south. Go north. Go anywhere that wasn’t the silk of his shirt, the lull of his cologne or the warmth of his arms—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cold touch of metal—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Faster, idiot! Faster! </span>
  </em>
  <span>You almost scream. You reach out for the doors, stumbling like a little kid. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re almost.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You watch. Watch in frozen, gut-wrenching horror as the metal knob neatly, quietly starts to turn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door </span>
  <em>
    <span>clicks.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You have half a second to recognize the familiar sleek black leather of a shoe before you’re throwing yourself into the closest room beside you—a storage room, and scrambling across the pitch black floor to hide.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No. No. No. No.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sa...Sakusa-sama… what is…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You stared in disbelief at the sleek white box in front of you. It was no bigger than your palm. Pearl white—Sakusa seemed to adore white. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Even more when it was on you.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The outer edges of it were gold, curving so elegantly around the box that just the case itself seemed to be some kind of sacred heirloom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It sat there. So pretty, so… </span>
  <em>
    <span>unbelievable </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the sheer wonder of it’s elegance on the dinner table. The entire room was empty—Sakusa always rented out the floor when it was the two of you eating out, for the sake of privacy for his yakuza status and for the fact that he detested tightly congregated areas of people. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Unsanitary.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The beautiful white cocktail dress he’d gifted you hugged your body, comfortable, warm, making you feel… </span>
  <em>
    <span>good. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sakusa had a strange way of doing that—of doing all the right things, giving you the means to feel better about yourself than you ever had before. The light was dim in the traditional Japanese restaurant. The final dessert course had just been served and polished, leaving you two with an elegant set of decadent fruits lined up. Bright red strawberries dipped in white chocolate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sakusa leaned his cheek against his gloved palm, eyes sweeping over you and your awestruck expression as he languidly reached over and popped the latch of the box open for you.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You could ask for anything,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he said, quiet and cool. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“But you don’t. I chose myself.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A small, solid gold heart was nestled in a bed of red velvet. The fabric of the choker it was attached to was white—platinum and silk, maybe satin. You could hardly ever figure out the difference. You stared at it, jaw dropping shamelessly while Sakusa watched you in almost fond amusement.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“...the… these gifts,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>you started, looking up at him in worry. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You don’t… you don’t have to give me all these gifts. I… you’re one of our most honored customers, Sakusa-sama. You already pay for my time and for</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I want to give it to you,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sakusa said evenly, cutting you off. You stared at him, overwhelmed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t do the things I don’t want to do. It’s yours.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t refuse. Be kind. Be courteous. No matter how much it might bother you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You didn’t understand why the most basic rules of your training had stuck with you then, like a strange memory deciding to replay.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Will you…” </span>
  </em>
  <span>you hesitated. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Will you put it on for me?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Your words seemed to have been exactly the right answer. It filled his face, the look of pride and praise at your words. The darkening of his irises, wrapped up in that hidden warmth. Sakusa stood up from his side of the table, drifting around it, one gloved finger tracing the edge before he neatly plucked up the choker from the box. You realized there was a small little gold key that came with it to unlatch and latch the jewelry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You stilled in a bit of surprise when Sakusa laid his gloves on the table. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No, that’s right. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He always took them off when he touched you—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sakusa hummed, soft and low under his breath as he gently moved your hair aside. You’d laughed a bit as his fingers teasingly traced patterns against your skin, a hidden promise for later tonight, following an invisible line before his hands came around you, fitting the choker against your neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The choker </span>
  <em>
    <span>clicked</span>
  </em>
  <span>, locking into place. Sakusa’s fingers lingered until yours came up, squeezing his.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Thank you,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>you said warmly. Sakusa hummed, a lull like rumble. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I can’t thank you enough.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You think too lowly of yourself,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he said. Sakusa’s words had made you happy. They were kind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You don’t seem to understand just how much you deserve.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I really don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You do.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You laughed. Sakusa traced his fingers down your neck, sliding across your collarbone.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“We can start small,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sakusa had said. His voice had been so lulling, pulling you along with his words as he turned the key and locked the choker into place. You could feel the light weight of the gold. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You’ll have more time on your hands after leaving that establishment to see what I’m talking about.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You remember his words like a slap to your face.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m…” </span>
  </em>
  <span>you remember hardly being able to speak, slowly turning around to face Sakusa, who gazed reverently down at you. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What? “I’m sorry?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(Maybe a small part of your mind had already realized. The kind that works faster than you can really think. The kind of that figures it all out when it knows, suddenly—)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“There’s no need for you to work there anymore,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sakusa said, as though speaking to a child. He brushed his fingers against your cheek, marveling at the way the golden heart rested against the little bob of your throat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“It would be pointless. You’ll come with me. Live at the estate. It only makes</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m sorry,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>you said abruptly, standing up from the chair. Sakusa looked startled, his eyes flickering to you. Your heart hammered in your chest. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m sorry, what did you just say?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His expression stilled, quiet, calculative. You felt something cold flooding you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your heart started to pound a little, fingers shifting nervously. Sakusa’s expression was cool, regarding you, figuring you out when it suddenly felt like you didn’t know a single thing about what was going on at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“...you will no longer be working at that establishment.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You’d messed up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(You have to go.)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“...Sakusa-sama,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>you said, quick, clear. His eyes darkened. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Sakusa-sama… that’s not… that isn’t… leave? Leave the establishment? You want me to quit? What are you even talking about?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s unsightly,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sakusa said, almost clinical. You stared at him in disbelief. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Unsanitary and beneath you. There’s absolutely no need for you to remain there, what is so hard to understand?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Where did this even come from?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>you said quickly. An understanding seemed to dawn across Sakusa’s expression, one that sent you running on high alert, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t understand anything. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Sakusa-sama this</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>we’re just</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m just</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You </span>
  </em>
  <span>want </span>
  <em>
    <span>to continue working there?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sakusa asked, quiet, calm.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s not… It’s not whether I want or</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Is there,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sakusa said, just above a low whisper, even and resounding. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Someone else?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What do you even mean by that?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>you said frantically. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“That’s not</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>this is my work!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes pinned you in place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You gestured pitifully to yourself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m not… your lover…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sakusa’s grip on the back of your empty chair turned white. You felt something cold drop into the pit of your stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything started to play through your head like some sickening movie reel. From the moment he first called for you up until now. To all the dinners. To the lavish gifts. To the way he held you, the way he </span>
  <em>
    <span>touched </span>
  </em>
  <span>you, the way he could bring you to near insanity with his hands, his mouth, </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>and the way he left his lips all over your body, whispering something reverent into your skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You refocused the lens. You saw his eyes. You saw his face, looking at you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>looking </span>
  </em>
  <span>at you and—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, no.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(You were such an idiot.)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I-I’m sorry,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>you said, breathless, almost teary eyed. Sakusa watched you in silence, expression void of emotion. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I-I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I thought it was clear… I thought… Sakusa-sama, I’m sorry, but I can’t take this and I can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You grabbed at the choker, trying to tug it off. It wouldn’t budge. Your eyes shot to the tiny key held tightly between Sakusa’s fingers. You felt your heart drop when he gently dropped it into his breast pocket, bringing his dark eyes to look up at you.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Going back there,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sakusa started, as though musing over some kind of vague hypothesis. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“To that line of work…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You froze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sakusa looked at you.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Darkness.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Did you really think,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sakusa breathed, low and soft, but it felt like venom dripping. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’d let those filthy vermin or anyone else ever touch you again?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(It was already too late.)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re mine.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Your heart hammers in your chest. You want to cry. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No! Stop! </span>
  </em>
  <span>You desperately turn around and around, thinking quickly. The room is stuffed with old furniture, broken equipment. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hide. </span>
  </em>
  <span>There’s a dark cloth draped over boxes and a long table, and you frantically scramble underneath it at the sound of the door opening and closing in the hallway just outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darkness envelops you. Dust fills your lungs and you hold back a cough, making yourself as small as you possibly could hidden underneath the old table. You grab your ankles, balling yourself up and pressing a hand to your mouth to quiet your breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Please don’t find me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You almost cry out when the door to the room opens. You hold your breath, waiting frantically as silence fills the air before you hear the quiet, even steps circling the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pauses one moment, and then he moves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a rustle of fabric where he lifts a blanket. The quiet </span>
  <em>
    <span>screech </span>
  </em>
  <span>of wood as he shifts aside a set of chairs. You can feel him standing there in the center of the room, looking, surveying. Sweat rolls down your cheek, dripping onto the floor as you hold your breath, hardly daring to even blink, watching the faint shadows on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door clangs open. You freeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir, we searched the alley—her shoes were left in the room. She made a run for the parking lot!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence follows before he answers, low, quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door clangs shut. You wait. Wait, wait, wait, barely breathing. Sakusa’s even steps make one last sweep around the room as you listen, heart hammering like a drum against your head until the door lightly opens one more time, and closes with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>click.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ten.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You’ll count to ten. No, twenty. You count the numbers in your head and then count them one more time, backwards. He’ll head down the hallway. Head toward his men. He’ll search the parking lot. By the time he’s down the hall you’ll already be out the exit, out the subway—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You exhale, slow and careful. You slowly crawl towards the sheet, lifting it up as you drag yourself out from underneath the table, back into the center of the room. The little gold heart on your neck </span>
  <em>
    <span>clinks.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The polished, clean shine of his leather black shoes meets your terrified gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your heart drops. Your eyes slowly, slowly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>slowly </span>
  </em>
  <span>look up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sakusa Kiyoomi stands before you, his eyes swallowing your entire expression whole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s filthy down there, get up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shout tears itself from your throat before you can even help it, lunging, hands swinging and flailing as you try to run. It only takes him one smooth motion, a simple strike of his arm and his arm hooks over your waist, catching your breath and pushing you back, away from the door. You stumble, bumping into a crate of boxes and frantically looking for something, anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sakusa watches you in silence, eyes half-lidded, looking almost bored with the entire ordeal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You spot the slab of wood propped against the wall. You lunge for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>RUN</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Long fingers wrap themselves around your throat, hooking into your choker and pressing you up against the clothed table. You shout, scream, kick your legs as he presses his hips flush to yours and forces you head down, pressing it against the table and grabbing your wrists with the other, forcing them to the side as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Red. Red spilling out of the taxi cab. Red pouring down limp fingers as your once former customer’s body slumps, almost falling out of the car. Red spilling down into the street as Sakusa steps around the corner, handing Komori his gun as he wipes his gloved fingers on a white handkerchief—)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Your face, horrified, frozen, stopping just short of the alleyway you’d been about to leave because that was the same customer you were supposed to meet—)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop,” Sakusa says quietly, a soft command above you. His expression is almost serene, the kind he made when he woke up and found you smiling at him, cheeky and tracing fingers over his back. “Don’t fight me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Let me go!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” you shout. “Let me go, let me go, let me go! No! No! No! You’re crazy! You’re insane! You’re—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t mean that,” Sakusa says evenly. You snarl, flailing, struggling as tears prick the corners of your eyes. “Don’t struggle. You’re going to hurt yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want this!” you shout, fighting against him. Sakusa shakes his head. “You’re crazy! You’re insane! You killed them! You killed a-all of t-t-them and now—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They were filthy,” Sakusa says. “Disgusting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They were people!” you shout frantically, thrashing in his grip. Sakusa’s long fingers splay over your throat, keeping your head pinned and your arms from flailing. Your legs try to kick, hiking the dress up higher but he pins you flush to the table. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You killed them!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re trapped.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sakusa, let me go!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” you thrash against him. Sakusa exhales through his nose, looking faintly vexed with your behavior. “God damn it, let me go!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...look at me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You instantly threw your face to the side, refusing. Sakusa clicks his tongue, grabbing your chin, fingers squeezing into the lower half of your cheeks and forcing your face toward his. Your eyes refuse to look at him, staring as hard so you could at a spot above his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can throw whatever tantrum you’d like,” Sakusa says quietly, cold. “I meant what I said. You were never going to set foot back in this filth again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You try to shake your head. Sakusa holds you steady.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you really think I’d let you ruin yourself here?” Sakusa says. “Rot away? Did you really think I would let those pieces of—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sakusa calms himself, catching his breath. His hand traces the outline of your jaw, slowly dipping to your choker. He moves your hands above your head, forcing you to still, shuddering as his finger trails, lower and lower, across your chest and down your torso until he stops at your lower belly, laying his large palm flat, dragging it down, almost between your thighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your chest heaves, rising and falling. You glare tearfully at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think I’d let anyone else other than me,” Sakusa says lowly, “be inside of you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He holds your hands tighter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be </span>
  <em>
    <span>with </span>
  </em>
  <span>you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sakusa brings his face to yours. You flinch away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Love </span>
  </em>
  <span>you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t love!” you shout. “This isn’t! It isn’t! It isn’t—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something pricks the side of your neck and you flinch, eyes widening in disbelief. You try to crane your neck but Sakusa keeps your head steady, watching you, eyes revent, dark and full of—full of—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls the syringe away. Your vision starts to blur and you open your mouth, struggling in vain as he cups the side of your face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s still love,” Sakusa says calmly. “You’ll see. Go ahead and sleep now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sakusa leans down. Your muscles scream in protest, a tear pricking the corner of your eye but he swipes it away, bringing his lips to yours and pressing a kiss to your mouth. He moves his lips against you, warm, coaxing, and you sink into nothingness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>- You started working in this line of business because your family owed big debt and you had to find a way to pay, luckily the boss was kind and took you under his wing. Even though you paid off the debt, you stayed because you didn't know anything else, didn't have anywhere else to go.<br/>- Sakusa was born into the yakuza business as the next Itachiyama heir. His cousin Komori is his right hand man. He's never once thought about leaving this line of work.<br/>- You get along well with your coworkers, even when Sakusa picked you, they were happy for you. They just started to become concerned when they saw you less and less.<br/>- Sakusa first saw you outside the establishment. You don't know, but he'd been waiting on a bench for his car, on his way to a meeting when he watched you outside a florist shop, holding a basket of lilies and laughing.<br/>- He thought his night with you would be nothing more than a one time thing, but the first night he requested you and you sat there, talking away, chatting, looking at him and smiling, he'd ended up waiting weeks after spending time with you before whisking you away.<br/>- Sakusa researched and found out information on all of your former regulars, quietly informing them that you were no longer available. A few protested, a few tried to go behind his back.<br/>- The result was inevitable.<br/>- There were too many things he wanted to give you. Sakusa wanted to spoil you, but he had to move slow because Komori informed him laughing how terrified you were of all the things.<br/>- He would give you anything you asked for. He wanted to give you the world.<br/>- Sakusa grew to love taking baths with you, long ones, running his hands through your hair, mapping out your body as you laughed, running your fingers through his, soap and scented candles and warm water flooding all around the two of you.<br/>- Sakusa really does love you. And he always will, no matter what.</p><p>Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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